


fuck the whole wide world

by gottabewhatomorrowneeds



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Lots of characters are mentioned, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary Mad Gear (Fabulous Killjoys), Other, Pre-Canon, Tragic Romance, War, fucking around with the analog & helium wars baby~, tbh not really sure what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabewhatomorrowneeds/pseuds/gottabewhatomorrowneeds
Summary: Mad Gear serves in two wars and becomes disillusioned with the greed of the corporation they’re serving. They lose all sense of purpose, and they begin to lose hope.But then Missile Kid comes along, and Mad Gear figures out what they’re fighting for.
Relationships: Mad Gear/Missile Kid (Danger Days)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	fuck the whole wide world

**Author's Note:**

> if something needs to be tagged lmk

They’re seventeen when they get drafted into a war that’s been waging since they were five. 

They don’t really remember the start of the war, or why it happened. They know it stems from greed, that the entire world came together for a bloodier war than the stories of previous world wars. It started with an invasion somewhere for some valuable material and then people died and then kept dying as more and more soldiers were dragged into this fight.

They’ve been watching this world shift from peace to what feels like an eternal bloodbath. The skies that used to be a deep blue have turned a sickly green, and the white clouds have been replaced with the smog of atomic bombs. Nuclear bombs fall out of the sky without notice, and everyday they watch as planes fly overhead and they duck for cover in fear that these will be their last few minutes before they get burnt to a crisp.

They can’t remember the last time they looked at the sky and saw stars. All they remember is this life of constant war and strife and blood and greed. All they remember is this meaningless, meaningless war for resources that don’t matter, against people who shouldn’t be enemies. A clash between governments that leads to the suffering of the people.

Mad Gear doesn’t have the name Mad Gear yet. They’re too young to even realise how fickle gender is, how their name feels all sorts of shades of wrong. They’re too young right now to realise that this isn’t who they want to be, but they’ll figure it out soon enough.

Right now, they’re seventeen, and they’ve been drafted into this goddamn war that means nothing.

They come from a normal home. They’ve got a mom and a step dad and a sister and a dog. They’re Australian but they left Australia right before the wars started. There’s nothing special about them, nothing that says they’re going to do anything with their life except die in the throes of war. And Mad Gear believes wholeheartedly that they will die a pointless death next to their countless peers and become a rotting corpse in a mass grave.

The draft is supposed to be for those eighteen and older. But people have been dying at an alarming rate, from either on the battlefields or by their own hands as grief and sorrow over the sins they’ve committed stopped them from carrying out any more dastardly deeds from the mouths of those sitting high and mighty in the safety of their homes. Plus, there’s been talks of a plague spreading throughout the world, and it’s beginning to take its toll on the young and old. 

So they lowered the draft right before their birthday. And on their birthday, they weren’t given a pretty birthday cake or a surprise party- they were handed a blood stained uniform two sizes too small and a gun that’s been scratched so much it doesn't even shine in the rare days of sunshine anymore.

There’s so little training Mad Gear still isn’t sure who the hell they're supposed to shoot at. They just know that people in the same uniform as them are “good” and everyone else is “bad”. God, they hate it here. They hate this life, they hate this war.

The stench of burning flesh from bombs tossed not far from their own position pervades the air. Red stains their clothes, their vision, and they’ve never hated a colour more than the shade of blood that spurts from a gunshot or the molten flesh of those unfortunate enough to have been burnt alive. They can’t escape from the all consuming red- there seems to be no end in sight.

This war is full of horror. There is nothing here for them, and as time moves on at the pace of a snail's crawl, Mad Gear can feel themself slipping. They’re just so tired of fighting these vampire money wars, so tired of committing heinous crimes that no merciful god could or should ever absolve them from. 

The temptation to just give up grows everyday. What are they fighting for? Why are they here just to suffer at the hands of those who also don’t understand why they’re fighting? They don’t have a reason to fight. And really, they don’t have a reason to live.

Until they meet him.

-

Mad Gear is eighteen when they meet him. The Helium Wars are slowly beginning to die down as the government slowly begins to merge with some mega corporation. The corporation has been trying to vye for power since Mad Gear first came to America, and really the two have been tangled since they could remember. All the supplies are stamped with the same fucking logo- BLi. 

But the war isn’t done yet, not for another year. They won’t get discharged with high honours just yet, they won’t escape this perpetual bloodbath just yet.

There’s two battalions fighting side by side. Mad Gear doesn’t even remember their own regiment, let alone that of who they’re fighting with. They just know that there’s more soldiers to try to keep the enemy at bay with, more soldiers to be killed for money.

They try not to learn the names of their peers. They’ve gotten a lot better at not getting attached to people, and it’s much easier if you don’t know the name of the corpse. 

In the moment, they don’t know that this will be called the Massacre of Death Valley. They just know that they’re trying to protect some city called Los Angeles- though, they’ve heard that they’re changing the name. Whatever. Battery City, LA, it doesn’t matter- they just have to defend it.

And that’s when the bombs start flying.

Explosions burst in the trenches. Screams fill the air. The sound of planes and helicopters nearly swallow the screaming of Mad Gear’s peers. Fires wage and burning flesh fills the air, an odor that Mad Gear will never forget, a smell that will follow them wherever they go.

They have to get out before those bombs start to reach them.

But then again, do they have to? If they die, they won’t be fighting this miserable battlefield anymore, they’ll finally be able to fucking rest. Doesn’t sound so bad.

“You gotta move!”

Mad Gear sees the bomb coming at them but doesn’t react. Why bother? Death is practically welcome; She’s snatched so many of their peers, so why not join them? 

Something tackles their side, and Mad Gear gets shoved to the ground. The sound of an explosion rattled their bones and suddenly an intensive heat wave blankets their body like a cocoon set on suffocating its caterpillar. There’s a searing burning sensation that lights up part of their legs and arms, and they feel themselves and another weight get blown back by the force of the explosion.

They slam back into the wall of the trench, mud lathering their body. Everything begins to ring like an alarm bell that won’t shut up. All they see is red, blurred and washed out as they limply hit the ground.

God, their legs feel like they’re on fucking fire. Everything is just in so much pain. 

“Mad Gear?” Someone slurs, their voice a whisper. It comes from a bleeding throat, a strangled noise trying to make it out of a rough and worn voice box. 

Mad Gear has begun to be reluctant in giving up their name to new recruits. They don’t want to know people, and they don’t want to be known to others. Names are sensitive and binding, and Mad Gear wants no one to be bound to them just as they wish to be free from others.

The other soldiers think they’re weird as hell. They think they’ve got a couple of screws loose, that war has been chipping away their insanity, that all their gears are slowly grinding to a halt. So they call them Mad Gear, because they’re fucking crazy as hell, careless as hell, and just insane.

But it’s not their name, so they don’t care.

Mad Gear still answers to it, though. They glance over, trying to blink away the red in their vision. It’s blood that’s dribbling down their face, and they know that there’s a wicked burn wound on their head that will need medical attention.

They wipe away the blood with a shaking hand and try to look at the person calling for them. He’s laying on the ground a few feet away, his face lathered in blood and mud. There’s burn marks racing up and down one side of his body. Mad Gear recognizes him.

Missile Kid, they call him. He’s terrifying with a grenade launcher, and apparently has the aim of a missile. He’s in that other battalion, but Mad Gear has a feeling that won’t matter for long. Too many people are going to die, and they’re just going to merge into one unit. It’s happened before, and it will keep happening.

The realization strikes them as they gaze into Missile Kid’s eyes, as they manage to look past the sweat and grime and blood and peer into his face. Missile Kid just saved their life. He tackled them and tried to use his body as a shield against the explosion.

“You saved my life,” Mad Gear whispers. Their voice is rough, as gravelly as Missile’s. Missile Kid half heartedly punches their shoulder.

“That’s what soldiers do,” he whispers back. “Real soldiers, not those that just follow orders like some of the others in our regiment. Soldiers that actually care about protecting people.”

Mad Gear smiles, quietly. They haven’t done that in what feels like years. “Thank you.”

“No problem. But there’s still a war going on, and if we want to survive, then we gotta move. They’re closing in.”

They both begin to sit up, groaning horribly. Everything burns, everything aches, everything stings, and they want nothing more than to lie back down, enemies be damned. But Missile Kid offers Mad Gear his hand, and Mad Gear finally understands.

They found someone to fight for.

-

They spend a year together, fighting side by side, and Mad Gear gets to learn so much about Missile Kid.

They learn that Missile Kid was the youngest of their regiment (hence, “kid”) but is actually three months older than Mad Gear. He has a younger sister and an older brother, and used to have a cat but he’s pretty sure his sister stopped feeding it while he was gone and just never told him. 

He’s got the shot of a sniper, the steady hands of a surgeon, and the eyes of an eagle. He’s terrified of spiders but is fascinated with various types of weapons if only to understand how a machine can cause so much fucking damage. He’s horribly smart, probably could have been a technological prodigy if he wasn’t drafted in this fucking war.

They learn that his favourite animal is a scorpion, that he loves the colour green, that he misses the taste of key lime pie, that he wanted to be an engineer when he grew up. They even learn his real name one night, hunkered down in their shared bunk, whispered in the static of the land. 

Mad Gear even shares theirs back, because Mad Gear has lost their fear of falling and bonding.

They become friends, even better than friends. And Mad Gear slowly begins to see colour in the world again, colours other than the red blood of their enemies, the black of the uniforms, the whites of their victims eyes. They’re beginning to see the world through new eyes.

They’re still fighting in this shitty war, they’re still neck deep in the trenches, still shooting people even younger than them because they were told to. They’re still in the heart of such an evil event, still contributing to this mass bloodbath. But now they have a reason to survive, to continue fighting, to end this war if only to see the end with Missile Kid and start a new life together.

Time blurs together, but they both try to keep track as best they can. A year passes by, and they spend their nineteenth birthdays in the sole company of each other and their heavy guns to bear witness.

They’re best friends, their bond stronger than any bullet, any bomb, any horrible atrocity sent their way. They are going to see through to the end so they can start over together.

And as their dreams of a peaceful life, of a domestic home to come back to, of nights entangled in each other's arms, they realise a quiet revelation. Perhaps they could be more than friends.

It’s night when words are whispered, two months after Mad Gear turns nineteen. They’re lying together in the baracks, in the same bunk with their thin blankets piled on top of them. They started sleeping together to try to beat back the cold, hoping that their combined body heat and blankets would be enough to stave away the frost. But it was just an excuse to be close to each other and to be held in the arms of someone who would never judge them for their crimes.

Mad Gear dreamed of the days when their mother could hold them tight in her arms, when they were a snotty nosed child who never saw more blood than was poured out of a scraped knee. But letters after letters prove that she no longer sees them as her child, that the horrid war machine they’ve been turned into have rotted them so much she can not stand them any more. They have committed too many sins to be absolved, and Mad Gear has long ago stopped begging for forgiveness. It’s why they have to start a new life with Missile Kid. There’s nothing left for either of them.

They should be sleeping, should be trying to get in as many hours as possible until it’s their shift. But they spend it instead staring up at the sky, and sneaking glances at each other when the other wasn’t looking. They stare at the sickly green sky covered in ash ridden clouds, trying to find stars.

“They say that for as many stars there are in the universe, there’s an equal amount of parallel universes,” Missile Kid states, almost absently.

“Now there’s none. What do you think that means?”

“Oh, the stars are still there. We’ve just become too blinded to be able to see them. But that doesn’t mean they stopped existing.” There’s a pause. “Do you think there’s a universe where we aren’t fighting this shitty war?”

“There has to be.” Mad Gear’s voice is firm. “There’s got to be. Humanity can’t be so corrupted in every timeline. Greed can’t conquer the entire multiverse.”

Missile Kid seems content with that answer. They stay in their positions, body’s entangled with each other, breaths ghosting each other’s skin. 

Mad Gear knows that they don’t deserve to enter the gates of heaven, that they’d be lucky to even be sent to purgatory and not straight to hell. But in these quiet moments, when they can pretend there’s no war, when it’s just the two of them, it sometimes feels like this is the closest they will ever get to experiencing heaven. 

“Mad Gear.”

Mad Gear glances away from the stars to gaze back at Missile Kid. Their eyes meet, and Mad Gear can see the reflection of the handful of stars left, still shining, still managing to persevere through the polluted atmosphere to reach them and get lost in the reflection of Missile Kid’s eyes. It’s a quiet moment just between them, a moment that feels as vast as infinity and as small as the parts of an atom. Insignificant, yet completely consequential.

Quietly, Missile Kid slips his fingers into Mad Gear’s. They hold hands, alone in the veil of the night.

“Do you think…,” Missile Kid’s voice is soft, gentle, hesitant. “... that there’s a universe out there where we’re more than friends…”

“Like….” Mad Gear’s brain feels like it’s frying. “Lovers?”

“Do you think there’s a universe where perhaps, we’re lovers?”

Mad Gear grips his hand tight. Missile Kid’s nerves are clearly fraying at having to clarify his question. They lean towards each other, their faces inching ever closer.

“I think there is,” Mad Gear whispers. “And it could be this one, if you want it to be.”

“I do.”

“Then can I kiss you?”

“Of course. Anyday. Always.”

And they kiss. It’s not Mad Gear’s first, and it’s not Missile Kid’s first. It’s not the best they ever had, but this time, it’s different, because it’s the best in the sense that they are kissing because it’s the end of the fucking world and they still managed to find love in the midst of a battlefield, in the middle of all these thousands of corpses and puddles of blood.

And so begins their tragic romance.

-

The war ends.

It’s sudden, taking them both off guard. Their life completely changes in just the span of a couple weeks, three months after they become a couple. Battery City suddenly says that they won the war, and that they’re shipping soldiers back to the city.

So Mad Gear and the Missile Kid get sent back to Battery City. They get reintegrated into this strange society that seems so different from the one they left. Everything is organised and tidy and pure white. Everything seems almost perfect. Every house is identical, every person wears the same clothes, everything looks exactly the same.

BLi welcomes them all back, parades them as war heroes. They defended Battery City, they’re heroes, they’re exactly what every citizen should aspire to be- willing to give their life for the company that serves them.

And then just as quickly, they all get shoved aside.

BLi quietly sweeps them under the rug. They put them through a couple rounds of therapy and decide that they’re not messy enough to be worried about, so they send them back home with a bottle of pills that will take away any pain, any nightmares, any trauma. They’re soldiers, they know how to adapt. 

Mad Gear and the Missile Kid find themselves an apartment. They try to reintegrate into society, because that’s what they’re supposed to do. The war is over, the war is over. Find a job, get your life together. You’re not a soldier anymore- you’re just another citizen.

They’re both furious. They’re completely enraged. They spent two whole years of their life living in the trenches, battling with people their age and slaughtering so many people. What do they get? What was the fucking point of that war? 

They’re veterans now, hardened and tired but oh so angry. They’re barely twenty, and they are filled with a smouldering fire. So many of their peers died- and for what?

This society is completely, utterly fake. They try the pills for a good while, desperate to end the nightmares and the fear and anxiety that plagued them every night and day. It works, but at a huge cost. They feel so goddamned numb all the time. They don’t feel fear or anxiety but they also don’t feel joy or love. 

It takes a while to get back off, because they realise the purpose of those pills are to get people hooked. It takes a couple of tries, it takes going through horrible withdrawals, but they manage to do it. Those pills work, yes, but they’re manufactured to turn people into little more than plastic husks. They don’t fix the problem, they just hide it. 

Mad Gear and the Missile Kid slowly become aware of how fractured this society is. This utopia is false- they see the brutality of the police forces (or Dracs, as they’re being called, apparently). They see the complete and utter control BLi has over the people. They see the greed fuelling BLi, how they make those pills mandatory yet so horribly expensive. They see how they’re brainwashing these people into believing this homogenization, this systematic destruction of the soul and creativity and colour and emotion is good, and those that deviate are bad.

They can’t fucking stay here.

They try to protest, for a little while. It’s their right, in those amendments Mad Gear remembered learning about right before they got shipped into a blood war. But that little piece of paper that gives people rights means nothing when the people in power to uphold them don’t care. They get jailed once, and Dracs have fun tasing the shit out of them.

They call them Killjoys, for trying to disrupt this perfect society. They get put through therapy, and they’re told that they’re just soldiers itching to fight, itching to be useful. There’s no war anymore, it’s time to be content with this utopia they fought so hard for.

But it’s nothing but plastic. And maybe they are just itching for a fight, itching to prove themselves and make sure they’re not useless anymore, but there is a fight to be fought. There’s a revolution they have to spark.

So they will.

It’s only been nine months, but they’ve had enough of this hellhole prison. Mad Gear and the Missile Kid make a pact to themselves in their bedroom when the lights are low and the cameras can’t pick up on their quiet voices and their gentle movements.

“We’re going to escape.”

“We’re going to fight.”

“And we’re going to win.”

-

As it turns out, there’s quite a few disgruntled veterans like them. Many of them became hooked on those little pills and have become completely numb, completely ignorant of the situation. Mad Gear feels pretty bad for them, but they’re too brainwashed to see any better, so they’ll have to get left behind.

But there are people like them, people who have slipped through the cracks of this utopia, who see the world as it is. Turns out there’s quite a few of them in the same complex as Mad Gear and the Missile Kid. BLi decided to shove them all in the same place, which was really a bad decision on their part.

They meet two people Missile Kid knew from a regiment they fought beside before they got moved to Mad Gear’s. Helena and Mike Milligram. 

They see the world as it is, not as BLi wants them to. The four of them decide to band together, because two people can only do so much, and having more eyes to cover your back is always wanted. They form a crew, and they decide to bust out of Battery City. There’s nothing here for them, and a lot of the manufacturing of pills and weapons and such happens outside the city, in the desert.

Plus, they’re hearing rumours of others who have sprung from Bat City and are fucking around in the desert. Some of the names Mad Gear recognises- like Dr. Death Defying, that fucking bastard. They served together for a couple of months, and that man really didn’t know how to die. Mad Gear hadn’t seen him since he got his legs all fucked up from a bomb two years ago. 

Cherri Cola is out there. That kid served in the very last year, only seventeen like Mad Gear and Missile Kid were. He got his name because he was always moping about how much he missed the taste of soda. He was a real nice guy, and Mad Gear can only wonder how war must have destroyed that kid. He was always such a soft, gentle person. If he hasn’t been a soldier, he’d probably be a pacifistic poet.

Tommy Chow Mein, that bitch. He’s a man that Mad Gear respects but can’t stand. He’s got a vicious temper and a sharp wit, and won’t hesitate to put you in your place. Of course he escaped. He was never good at conforming.

There’s others, of course, who managed to escape before them, either deserting in the middle of the war or right before they all got shoved back into Battery City. But they haven’t heard anything from them yet, any sort of uprisings or rebellion, so they’ll have to take matters into their own hands.

So the four of them plot together, using their skills to figure out how to break out. Helena and Mike were spies, so they watched for guard shifts and camera angles. Mad Gear and Missile Kid just packed their guns that they managed to sneak and agreed to cover the two lovers when the time comes.

And then, the time comes, and the four of them disappear from the city and begin a new chapter of their lives that will completely and utterly change the course of history.

-

The desert is a new world.

There’s a small society beginning to form when they appear. They're just a handful of people in this little desert, just a handful of rebels and mutineers, but they’re enough.

Helena, Mike, Missile Kid, and Mad Gear meet up with Cherri Cola and Dr. D. They begin to contrive an entire new war, one that has a central purpose: tearing down BLi. They want to destroy as much power BLi has as they can, and they don’t care how they do it.

It’s not especially hard, rounding up others who want to fight. There’s plenty of disillusioned veterans who escaped who want to make a scene, who want to start a new fight that has meaning, that will fuck over the system that fucked them over. The people are angry, and they’re ready to be heard.

It starts off pretty small. They can only start with small scale missions, just enough to show BLi that they have a new enemy to watch out for. But as their missions slowly begin to grow in intensity and the amount of people escaping from the city begins to climb, a true revolution is launched.

When Mad Gear and the Missile Kid are twenty, and Helena and Mike are twenty two, a new war begins, all because of them and the fires that rage within their souls. People call them the Analog Wars, a series of civil uprisings caused by disgruntled veterans of the meaningless Helium Wars who want to fix the hideous society they were shoved back into.

Helena leads the fight. She’s got the charisma, the tenacity, the smooth edges the rest of them don’t have. She has the voice thousands of people will listen to, and she and Dr. D are taking over the airways with their songs of rebellion and colours and freedom.

They come up with a name, originally for their small gang of four: the Killjoys. They’re here to dismantle the supposed perfect utopia BLi has devised, and they’re going to ruin the fun. It’s a name that will become synonymous with rebellion, with freedom fighters and revolutionists. 

It’s a slow start, but soon their mission begins to pick up. And the four of them find themselves in the epicenter of a storm, in the eye of a hurricane of change. They don’t know that they’re going to become the cornerstone of all things rebellion, that they’re about to make history by becoming the very first killjoys, the first band of outcasts and misfits to step up to the corporation bent on destroying those who are different.

They’re just a couple of young adults who have seen way too much bloodshed and want to save the world.

-

It’s not all grim and dark. They’re a bunch of young adults who want to save the world, but they’re also just a bunch of young adults. They want to live a little, they want to do things other than start a revolution and fight and spill blood.

When Mad Gear picks up an abandoned guitar from an equally deserted music shop on a road by Route Guano, something else changes, too. They knew how to play a bit before the wars, knew some chords and finger positions and notes. They weren’t great, but they weren’t half bad.

“I used to play the drums,” Missile Kid states, absently, running his fingers on a dusty old drum set.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was in a band, too, when I was fifteen. Called ourselves the Sex Bob-Ombs.”

Mad Gear laughed. “I can play the guitar.”

“Hey, since we found all these instruments…” Missile Kid sends them a smile. “Why don’t we start a band?”

“What? And make music and shit?”

“Yeah! We can make music for the rebellion and to just, you know, have fun. You know, make rock and roll. BLi hates music. We can fuck them up in an artistic way, not just with our fists.”

Mad Gear strums a string. It rings out in the silent and still air of the abandoned shop. There’s not a single soul except for them. Well, there is the possibility that the ghost of the skeleton they found in the break room was still lingering, but Mad Gear likes to hope they had found peace.

“Yeah,” Mad Gear finally says. “Yeah, lets do it. Dr. D can hook us up with recording stuff, and I’m sure we could convince him or Hot Chimp to broadcast us.”

Missile Kid wraps an arm around Mad Gear’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be famous, man, and not just because of this fucking war.”

-

While Helena incites riots with her words, Mad Gear and the Missile Kid scream songs of anarchy all of their own. Dr. D happily helps them get acquainted over how to record and offers to broadcast them.

So they write shitty, sloppy, messy songs with no chorus, with too many instruments, with no rhythm. All of their works are messy and terrible, but it’s genuine and raw and sends a message, and the people of the desert eat that shit up. It’s not mass produced or regulated like BLi’s synthesised music that plays on the radio, it’s something unique.

They write songs together when they aren’t blasting down Dracs. When they can find peace and quiet in their unstable lives, Mad Gear takes out their guitar and Missile Kid pulls out his drums.

Helena and Mike even offer to fuck around with them. Helena will jingle the tambourine they found and offer back up vocals and Mike will try and fail to play the bass, but they keep his parts in anyway because the point isn’t to be perfect, the point is to have fun.

Cherri Cola sometimes helps with song lyrics. The kid has a great sense of rhyme schemes and loves writing what is basically poetry for them to scream. 

It’s fun, just rocking out together. There’s a war going on, lives are being lost, blood is being spilled, but sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re trying to destroy a corporation bent on desolating anything creative. It’s easy to get lost in the music, to forget that they’re nothing but a bunch of twenty year olds who have a voice and want to use it.

It’s nice.

-

It’s all fun and games until the worst day in Mad Gear’s life occurs.

The Analog Wars have been waging for three years. The desert’s becoming more and more populated, and people are becoming more and more aware of BLi’s evil motivations. BLi is slowly amassing more power, however- they’ve recognised that the Killjoys are more than a thorn in their side.

More civilians are being turned into Dracs, more exterminators are rising in rank, more weapons are being distributed. For every person that manages to escape, someone else becomes a soldier the Killjoys have to fight. It feels as if they're becoming locked in a stand still sometimes, unable to beat each other.

Until March 22nd, 2012.

They’re recording in an old antique shop that was long ago raided for any goods. They’re fucking around, writing some shitty songs. Helena’s got an idea about vampires or something, and Mike and Missile Kid are eating it up. Mad Gear is strumming absently on the couch they managed to salvage from the dumpster in zone one, listening to Helena regale them with vampire stories.

The door suddenly busts open, and Dracs appear.

They scramble for cover against a barrage of bullets. Mike gets shot in the shoulder as they duck and pull out their own blasters. They’re caught off guard, and that’s something you never want to happen during a gunfight.

They start shooting back. They manage to stave off the first wave of Dracs, and they begin to escape out the back door. Unfortunately, more Dracs were waiting for them when they slipped into the desert and away from the shop.

A firefight breaks out, bullets flying through the air. They team up and go back to back, Helena with Mike, Mad Gear with Missile Kid. They’re surrounded on all sides- it’s like there’s a thousand Dracs just waiting for them to make the wrong move.

This wasn’t a lucky chance, this wasn’t a patrol who managed to wander a bit too far off course. They’re location had been compromised, and BLi was here to make sure they didn't let this opportunity slide.

There’s a click.

Missile Kid freezes in place.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no. 

_No_.

Mad Gear moves closer to him. There, under his left foot. It’s a bomb, Mad Gear can tell. Probably used to be a missile until it got rewired into a land mine. It’s been there since the wars first started, back when the Helium Wars were raging nearly twenty years ago. 

The Dracs are moving closer. There’s a scream, a quiet grunt, and the sounds of frantic firing to their left.

Mike Milligram lays on the ground, unmoving. Mad Gear can see smoke rising from his body, and has a feeling that he’s staring at yet another corpse. Helena is going fucking ballistic, shooting wildly with her gun and Mike’s, and Dracs are dropping like flies all around her. She was the worst shot after Mike, but maybe luck was on her side.

They’re quickly becoming surrounded. Mad Gear and Missile Kid try to fight while Missile Kid remains as still as possible. It’s difficult for Missile Kid to dodge or fight, and they’re quickly becoming overwhelmed now that there’s basically two men down.

“Run,” Missile Kid whispers, but his voice is firm and commanding.

“I’m not leaving you,” Mad Gear warns, equally harsh.

“I’m going to step off this landmine, and I need you to get as far away as possible when I do.”

“That’s suicide!”

“We’re going to die in this fight if I don’t. It’s going to take out most of these Dracs, if not all. We don’t have time to figure out a way for me to safely step off. Now, run.”

“I can’t leave you!”

“Mad Gear.” His voice is so, so gentle. “You’re not gonna leave me. And I won’t leave you. We’re gonna stick together, even through death.”

“Please, Missile…”

“Run.”

Mad Gear doesn’t run. They stay planted next to Missile Kid, and barely dodge a laser that skims their thigh. “I’ll die with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Missile Kid suddenly pushes Mad Gear away. They go stumbling back, and a laser manages to snag their stomach, propelling them even further. They hit the ground and Missile Kid sends them a watery smile.

He steps off the landmine.

A roaring explosion fills the air. For a moment, the only thing Mad Gear can see is the colour red. It’s all they can feel, hear, breathe- just red.

They scream, scream as loud as they can. Flames lick their skin and burn their legs and stomach. Hell’s heat washes over their entire body. Shrapnel embeds itself into their flesh. Their ears ring, and it feels like cotton has been stuffed in their head.

They’re in so much fucking pain when they see the explosuon finally die down. It takes all the willpower they have to open their eyes and glance around. Missile Kid was right- the explosion took out a huge chunk of Dracs. But it wasn’t enough.

Dracs have surrounded Helena. She’s been captured, two Dracs holding her arms while she kicks and hollers obscenities.

“Stay still,” one of the Dracs orders. There’s a mask in its hand, and Mad Gear’s stomach churns. They’ve heard enough horror stories about those things to understand that they completely shred the souls of those who wear the masks. “Or else this is going to hurt a lot.”

“Wonder what she’ll see,” another Drac states with the inflection of a drone. Another one is kicking Mike’s body, and Mike doesn’t even react.

“This one’s dead.”

“You’ll pay for this!” Helena screams. “You’ll all pay for this! I know it!”

“Shut up.”

The mask gets yanked over her face.

Mad Gear doesn’t know, in that moment, that this will be the inciting incident for an event eighteen years into the future. Mad Gear doesn’t know that Helena is a week pregnant- hell, Helena doesn’t even know that. Mad Gear doesn’t know that Dracing Helena while a little kid is inside her is going to create the bomb that’s going to destroy BLi and release all of the souls trapped on earth.

Mad Gear doesn’t know that Helena and Mike’s kid is the Girl. They don’t know that Helena is going to give birth to a literal ticking time bomb nine months later. They don’t know that Helena’s eternal rage over the death of her husband and friends is going to be pushed into her child, and that the rage will fester into something potent and magical.

The only thing Mad Gear knows in this moment as they watch Helena get Draced is that they have just watched their entire gang be slaughtered. Helena screams, muffled, practically sobbing.

She drops to the ground, and two Dracs continue to guard her as a couple others begin to wander over. An exterminator lingers by Mike’s body. “The rest of the bodies should be in good enough condition to get salvaged for Dracing.” 

It glances to the point of origin for the bomb. “Well, except for that one. Oh, well. Can’t always get what you want.”

Helena’s sobbing has stopped. Mad Gear hears footsteps begin to trample towards them, and they have two options before them. Play dead and potentially live another day, or try to shoot the exterminator and then get shot to death.

Mad Gear’s survival instincts answer the dilemma for them. They shut their eyes and slow their breathing almost to a standstill. They remain as still as possible, hoping to god they can pass off as a corpse. 

The exterminator seems to inspect them for a few moments, before a foot lands on their stomach. They try to hold their breath and keep back the reflex to flinch away. The exterminator hums contentedly. “Yep, three new Dracs. Oh, this is a very productive day.”

It moves off of Mad Gear and wanders back to the patrol of Dracs. “Alright, time to head out. Stuff them all in white bags for the pick up crew. Then let’s head back- our mission is done.”

Mad Gear let’s themself get manhandled into a white bag. Genuinely, it’s a shock to them that the Dracs don’t notice they’re not a corpse. But the mask they wear must do more than just slice their souls into pieces, it must dumb them down, too. But Mad Gear doesn’t question this small sprig of luck, doesn’t dare question this cosmic blessing amidst the aftermath of a massacre. They just remain as still and limp as possible.

They remain in the bag, quiet, listening. They listen to the Dracs zipper them up, they listen to the sounds of crinkling plastic as more body bags are used, they listen to the roar of an engine as the patrol begins to file out. The sounds of tires squealing and a rattling engine fill their head until the sounds eventually fade into nothing.

They wait a few more moments after that, just a few, just to make sure they are alone. Then, they begin to unzip the bag with their shaking fingers, taking longer than it should to unzip a body bag from the inside.

The desert sun beats down their face as they wriggle out of the bag. They manage to get to their knees and they take in the sight around them. Helena has disappeared, which makes something cold burn in the pit of their stomach. There’s plenty of body bags littering the scene, mostly containing the bodies of ill fated Dracs, but Mad Gear knows exactly which one they need to open.

They move, almost mechanically, towards the body bag. They keep their eyes away from the scorch marks of the land mine, and focus solely on the body bag. They collapse to the ground next to it and start to unzip. It takes too much effort with their shaking hands, but they manage to rip off the white and free their trapped friend.

Mad Gear places a few fingers on Mike’s neck, searching for even the faintest hint of a pulse. He can’t be dead, can he? This is Mike fucking Milligram, one of loudest, chattiest, and most punk person they’ve ever met. He’s rowdy and proud and excitable, larger than life. There’s no way he’s dead.

Mad Gear tries for his wrist, then presses their head against his chest for a heart beat, then tries to see if he’s breathing. But Mike’s already lost so much body heat, and there’s not a single sign he’s alive.

Mad Gear’s eyes wander to sight of the bomb detonation. They see a black lump, completely charred over, and a couple of other limb-looking lumps next to it. There’s so much blood that stains the desert grains, splatters and pools of red.

Mad Gear leans away from Mike and throws up every single thing they’ve ever eaten. They sob, as loudly as possible, sounding like a whimpering dog as they come face to face with the reality of this situation.

Then they wipe their mouth, choke back a couple of tears, and get to work.

-

Mad Gear burns every single body. They watch Mike Milligram go up in flames, watch as his body begins to melt. 

Then they light the rest of the Dracs on fire, hoping to the merciless god above that She might take mercy on these fucking, twisted souls. They want to make sure these toy soldiers never kill again.

Then they bury all the parts of Missile Kid they can find.

Mad Gear doesn’t leave his grave until the clean up crew arrives to collect the bodies.

A new era has arrived, and it seems the Killjoys weren’t able to survive it.

-

Mad Gear tells Dr. D what happened, then disappears off the grid. Mad Gear won’t see Cherri Cola or Dr. D until a few years later, when a new group of killjoys decide to take on the company only to die for Helena’s child.

Mad Gear isolates themself into the desert, and it is when they stumble upon zone seven do they begin to dream again.

It’s the radiation poisoning, Mad Gear knows. They are going to die in the pitiful ruins of an atomic bomb after surviving two wars and a massacre on their friends. They are going to become a nameless corpse, a dreadful skeleton for other people to stumble upon. 

Mad Gear finds the situation ideal. The band with Missile Kid was a desperate attempt to remain remembered, to make at least one other person recall their names when their untimely end comes to pass. But Mad Gear hopes to the god above they won’t be remembered.

So they fade in zone seven, make peace with their ending, and watch as the radiation begins to take hold of their wretched body.

-

Until they begin to dream.

The Phoenix Witch visits them in the ruins once, leaning against Her shopping cart. Mad Gear can see Missile Kid and Mike’s mask inside, but they also see a couple others they don’t recognise. Some yellow motorcycle helmet, a strange astronaut helmet, and a Frankenstein mask lay beneath the two masks they do recognise.

The Witch smiles at them. She wears a mask, yet Mad Gear can feel Her bearing Her sharp teeth. “Are you ready to die?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, you know my schtick is to collect souls, especially those as frayed and desolate as yours, but I’m afraid I can’t, just yet.”

Mad Gear grips the other end of Her shopping cart, their knuckles turning white. “What? What do you mean?”

“It’s not your time.”

“How can it not be my time?” Mad Gear kicks the wheel of the cart and feels nothing but a dull pain take root in their foot. “I’ve tried so fucking hard to die!”

“And you did pretty good. But there’s a reason I let you survive two wars, why you’re the one to survive out of your friend group. And you haven’t achieved what I need you to yet.”

“What more do you want from me?”

The skies turn a sickeningly dark green. Ash clouds the colour of thick smog roll across the sky. It does not rain, but Mad Gear hears a clap of thunder just as a lighting bolt strikes to the left of them. Everything begins to dim, and the small bolt of light casts an eerie shadow on The Witch’s face.

“Look up.”

Mad Gear does.

A huge slab of metal grey catches their attention. It’s a bomb- an atomic one at that. Mad Gear has seen enough informational videos over what to do during a nuclear attack during their elementary school days to recognise a nuclear weapon.

It is massive and nearly swallows the sky. It leers overhead, awaiting a signal to be dropped.

And on the side, Mad Gear sees the name of the bomb: Missile Kid.

“Do you know what you have to do?” The Witch asks, curious. “Do you understand?”

Mad Gear stares at the bomb before them. No, they don’t understand. But yes, they do. “No.”

“I need you to summon this bomb. Missile Kid will clean out the evils of this world in a purifying flame. But only you can unleash it.”

“How?”

“I think you can figure that out.” 

There’s a guitar strapped around them. She taps the head of it, and Mad Gear does understand now. There wasn’t a guitar on them when they first began this conversation.

“Come on now,” She states, and picks up their mask from the pile. There’s a flicker of something yellow, and Mad Gear tries to see what it is, but it disappears from view. It almost looked like a yellow clown mask. “Oh, never mind them. They have an unruly soul that can’t find peace. They will, but it won’t be until…” She checks a watch on Her arm. “Ah, another eighteen years.”

“But this story isn’t about them, this is about you.” She rubs a bit of dirt and grime from their mask, then hands it to them. “Now, wake up, soldier. You have a mission to complete.”

-

Mad Gear wakes up.

The sky is a vibrant green. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The sun beats down on them, heatwaves threatening to suffocate them.

The Witch gave them a mission. Mad Gear understands their purpose now- call forth the pig bomb Missile Kid, the reincarnation of their lover, and detonate it upon the earth. Only then will all the scum of this earth wash away, only then will BLi be destroyed. A bomb will free them of the tyrannical clutches that have sunken into the back of the desert.

They tune their guitar, sitting on the ruins of a mansion. They begin to hum to themself, thinking of new lyrics for a new song. 

Mad Gear knows what they have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man........ idk ..........


End file.
